


Burnt as a Toaster Strudel

by desla_be



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Self Confidence Issues, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be
Summary: Sandor thinks that Sansa seeing him shirtless is actually the key to winning her over and gets a hefty sunburn in the process. Sansa offers to treat him to some sunburn aftercare.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 122





	Burnt as a Toaster Strudel

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to be very frank: this entire idea sparked from me being bitter about a sunburn I got a few days ago on solely my left shoulder. 
> 
> & for the record I can’t recall ever burning a toaster strudel 😂 but it seems like something that both of these hooligans would do && that’s enough for me

The rare occasion that Sandor Clegane takes off his shirt: to impress _Sansa fucking Stark_. And what did he get for it? Well, a jolly sunburn to match his hideous face. 

They’d been friends for quite a while and Sandor had seen the boys that she went out with. They were confident, and confidence was sexy... _right_? Sandor, of course, was heavily lacking in confidence... but how hard could it really be to fake it? He would only have to fake it for one day... and surely that was manageable. After all, he’d done a damn good job as the pumpkin patch in his elementary school’s rendition of _The Wizard of Oz_ fourteen years ago, so that must’ve counted for something. In fact, playing the role of a pumpkin patch was debatably harder. 

There was this commercial that he’d kept seeing for two weeks advertising some local car wash and all of the guys were shirtless... And all of the girls... well, they were quite _enthusiastic_ , Sandor noticed. 

So perhaps... the key to finally getting Sansa to realize that _he_ was the perfect candidate for her would be if she saw him shirtless? It would’ve worked on _him_ magnificently, had she gone shirtless to win him over... 

Of course, he was _already_ won over. 

So, Sandor decided to wash his car. A wash certainly wouldn’t hurt and after all, Sansa lived in the house right next door. She went out to paint on the porch every weekend so really she would just have to see him being shirtless and enticing and perhaps everything would fall into place.

Before the big day, Sandor made sure that all of the necessary preparations were made. He bought two sponges and some car-washing soap. He already had a hose and a bucket, and obviously he didn’t need a shirt. He even shaved his fucking _chest_ for the occasion— something he’d _never_ done before— because every single one of those guys from the commercial was as hairless as a sphinx. Of course, they were much more attractive than hairless cats. 

_And_ it was the only time that he ever, in the history of owning a car, wanted as many birds to shit on the hood as possible. The birds were usually more than happy to deliver on that promise but naturally, with Sandor’s shit luck, now they avoided his car like the Black Plague. Worst case scenario he just pretended like there were spots he needed to _really_ buff out. 

Everything was planned out seamlessly in his not-so-professional opinion. Sandor would play music on his stereo, loud enough so that she could hear her favorite songs that he’d peppered into the mix. She liked to talk about music... so perhaps if she heard her favorite songs come on, she might... want to talk about them?

He hadn’t really expected to be so nervous. Nervous because _what if being shirtless made no difference at all?_ — that he was just helplessly ugly? Or what if the pretty talking bird had nothing to chirp about this time? What if she never even came outside at all? 

Sandor had thought about the situation half a million times, he’d prepared everything very thoughtfully— he’d even _dreamed_ about it— yet not once did he think that the _weather_ would fuck it all up.

He was scrubbing the hood, scrubbing and scrubbing; the music was playing loud but who was he to care what the neighbors thought? The asphalt was burning the bottoms of his feet as he’d not worn shoes but he refused to put any on, so as not to _break the aesthetic_. 

“Sandor!” called Sansa over the loud music, shielding her eyes from the sun as she stood up and stared at him. 

Sandor looked at the stereo nervously as he rushed to turn down the volume with sudsy fingers. He looked up at Sansa curiously. 

“I think...” she looked down, dropping her brush into a jar of muddy water. “You might want to go inside soon... You’ve got a sunburn... You’re about as burnt as a toaster strudel.” 

_What? A toaster fucking what? Hmm_. His shoulder was turning quite red indeed. 

“Put some aloe on it, that’ll make it heal a lot quicker,” said Sansa as she walked graciously over to her edge of the lawn that separated them.

_ Aloe?  _

“And don’t take a hot shower tonight if you don’t have to... Hot water will make it hurt more!” The tips of her blue sundress were fluttering gently in the wind and it was rather distracting.

Although excited at her engaging conversation with him, it was a bit ironic that she was coaching him on burns as if she knew anything about them.

Sandor ran his hand through his hair. He was feeling a bit dizzy. “Aloe?” he asked, because it was time for a response... but frankly he couldn’t remember anything else that she’d said. 

Sansa smiled and— _is that a blush? She’s blushing_. Perhaps the sunburn was worth it, Sandor thought, his heartbeat _thrumm_ ing loudly in his chest. 

She nodded to the direction of her house. “I have some aloe,” she said. “You can come over and get some if you want to.” 

Sandor nodded and stepped forward. 

“No!” Sansa yelped, holding out her hands as his foot stomped gracelessly onto the grass. He hopped it back instantly at her protest. 

Sansa chuckled awkwardly. “Well... I was going to tell you not to step on the grass but you’ve already done it...” She waved her hand to beckon him forth. 

Sandor, however, unsatisfied with himself for being so stupid (he didn’t naturally understand why suburbians cared so much about their lawns), ran to the bottom of his driveway, jogged the curb and crossed up to her. 

Sansa sighed, but her sweet smile reassured him that he’d probably done something redeeming. 

Once they were inside, she told him to wait in the kitchen for a moment. When she returned she was armed with a plastic bottle of a clear gelatinous liquid.

She eyed him thoughtfully, a shirtless and barefooted man in her kitchen. It was exactly what he wanted her to do an hour ago, to _look_ at him and like what she saw... but that wasn’t the case here. This was the first time he’d seen her looking at him and she was only evaluating the degree of his idiocy. 

“Could you turn around?” she asked. 

Sandor complied, and she studied his back. 

“Oh Sandor, you’re going to be hurting later. You’ll want to cover all of the irritated areas with the aloe. Do you have anyone who can help you?” 

Sandor looked over his shoulder blankly at her. 

“I can,” she offered timidly. “ _Help_ you, I mean.”

_Help_ him? His mind went through loops contemplating what ‘help’ she’d be providing, but there was no doubt as to what his answer was going to be. Helping him probably meant physical contact and he wouldn’t be caught dead refusing physical contact from Sansa Stark. He nodded and she beamed, then skipped back out of the room. She returned a moment later with a bath towel and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer.

He felt suspiciously like he was at the doctor’s office. Never in his life had Sandor treated a sunburn with anything more than simply _waiting_ for it to go away, but she obviously didn’t share the lazy ideology. 

“The towel is for the couch,” she pointed out as he’d been eyeing it, as though that cleared it all up. If anything, the towel’s purpose just sparked more questions... but Sandor followed along without protest. 

The living room reeked of the Starks; photos everywhere: on the walls, the accent and coffee tables, the bookshelf. Lucky for him, there were a lot of photos of Sansa speckled around. The curtains were drawn all the way and the sun shone in heavily. 

Sansa stripped off the decorative couch pillows and spread the towel over the length of the cushions. She patted it, “Can you lay down?” 

To hell with _confidence being sexy_ , Sandor was afraid to speak. He started to lay on his back but Sansa shook her head... and then paused... and then changed her mind, apparently, and allowed him to lay on his back. She propped a pillow under the back of his head. 

Sansa pulled the wooden coffee table closer to the couch and sat on it, her knees close to his side. She picked up the ice pack and pressed it to the center of Sandor’s chest. 

He recoiled instantly but she placed her hand on his shoulder, which caused a series of tingles to overwhelm his nerves. Sandor held his breath. 

“It’s okay, cold is good for a sunburn,” she said. 

It _did_ feel good... Sandor did his best to relax as she held the ice pack over his skin, gradually mapping all over his front. 

When Sansa had left to do either side of his breast, she angled the ice pack to dab the cold relief around his nipples... careful not to make direct contact with them.

The ice felt unexpectedly good against his blazing skin, but he was certainly not _cooling down_. It sent a rush of warmth into his stomach, watching her stare at his chest. Was she liking what she saw after all? 

Between being drowsy from the heat and high off of her touching him so intimately, it was becoming really difficult for Sandor to keep his eyes open. He knew he had to, however... She was just being nice to him and he was enjoying it far too much. It would be too weird for him to close his eyes, wouldn’t it? 

“That should be good...” Sansa said, settling the ice pack on the coffee table and uncapping what he assumed was the aloe. 

She didn’t offer another word before dumping a hefty glob between his ribs. 

He started laughing as she rubbed the gel-like substance over his stomach... and she started blushing again. “Sorry...” said Sansa, smiling timidly. 

When she slid her hands up his chest, however, Sandor’s laughter died and he tensed.The edges of her palms slipped over his nipples which, despite his heavy concentration, stiffened immediately, and she apologized profusely. 

“It’s okay,” said Sandor. When he realized how husky his voice was, he tried to clear his throat to mask it but the damage had already been done. 

Sansa dipped her fingertips towards his shoulders, rubbing the aloe in gently. The burn that the ice pack had relieved was coming back into his skin. Truthfully, it’d been a while since he’d gotten a sunburn and they’d not been missed. 

“You can turn around now...” said Sansa, beckoning him to flip onto his belly. “I’m just going to get a fresh ice pack.” 

When she came back, she sat on the edge of the coffee table and repeated the process with the ice. 

Sandor had been wrong in thinking that this felt like the doctor’s office. This was _much_ sexier than the doctor’s office... And she was sexier than any doctor _he’d_ ever visited. 

Before she went at his back with the aloe, Sansa slid her fingers under his hair, grazing along the back of his neck. “Sorry, it was in the way,” she said as she pushed the locks forward and away from his neck. 

He hoped with all his might that she couldn’t feel him shivering under her touch, that she couldn’t see the goosebumps he felt covering his skin like a rash. If she noticed either, she said nothing. She was _really_ good at this. To how many other men did she offer sunburn relief treatments? 

Unlike on his front side, Sansa massaged the aloe in a bit more vigorously. Perhaps he was extra sunburnt on that side? “Let me know if it hurts and I can be more gentle,” she said. 

Her voice was a little more hoarse that usual. Sandor hoped she wasn’t getting sick... Although it _would_ give him the perfect opportunity to demonstrate his chicken soup-cooking abilities. 

_She already has parents to do that for her,_ Sandor thought bitterly. She didn’t need him. But if, for some reason, she did...

Sansa kneaded his lower back, right above the band of his knee-length cargo shorts. He flushed again with heat that was most definitely not caused by the sunburn. 

Her fingers massaged into the dip of his spine and if she hadn’t felt him shivering before, she had to feel it now. He tried his best to stop himself from tingling so much, but he couldn’t help it... His body had betrayed him. 

And then she just stopped. “Okay, I think that’s it,” said Sansa, rubbing her slimy hands on the towel’s corner. 

Sandor sat back up, his forearms folded strategically so that she wouldn’t (hopefully) notice what was going on beneath his shorts. 

Between scrambling back into the kitchen with the aloe and the ice, perhaps she really _didn’t_ notice. Sandor thought it best to cool down while she was in the other room, taking deep breaths and trying to think about anything except her hands on his nipples and that buggering sundress. 

He’d not cooled down much at all by the time she came back, looking much more anxious than she had moments ago... with a smaller bottle in her hand. 

“Don’t get mad, but I was really hesitant to believe that you moisturize your face... and, well... Can _I_?” 

_No_. _What_? Could she moisturize his _face_? He imagined her leaning in, face to face with his horrible burns... rubbing in some lotion like the doctors had done fifteen years ago to no avail. God, what if she gagged or something? Surely he’d never be able to talk to her again. _No, no way._

But what came out certainly wasn’t ‘no way.’ In fact, it was on the other side of the spectrum completely. What came out was explicit consent for her to get personal with his face and then she was uncapping the little container. 

Sandor did his best to sit still, leaning his back against the arm of the couch and watching her squeeze a small amount of a smooth-looking cream into her hands. She rubbed it around and leaned slightly forward, exactly how he imagined she would... and pressed her fingers to his unburnt cheek. 

It was extremely personal... having her so close to his face, burns or not. She rubbed the moisturizer over his forehead, his cheek and chin and the side of his nose, right above the lip... but she never gagged. It was weird. Was she broken? Of course, he didn’t _want_ her to be disgusted by his burns— In fact, the whole point of this entire day was to convince her that he could be _attractive_ — but really, after the first five minutes of washing his car, he surrendered all belief that her attraction for him could ever be anything more than a wet dream. 

So for her not to even _react_ to his burns, well, it was a little off-putting.

But at least his car had gotten a wash, short-lived as it was. And at least he’d gotten... whatever _this_ was. 

Sansa gulped; she looked nervous as hell. 

_Okay, is this it?_ She didn’t look far from gagging. He hoped that she didn’t throw up on him as _that_ would be unfortunate. 

“Could you close your eyes?” asked Sansa, in that same hoarse voice from before. 

Oh god, maybe she _was_ sick. She _looked_ sick, she _sounded_ sick. 

Sandor gulped and shut his eyes. Honestly he probably would’ve shut them anyway so he didn’t have to see her repulsion anymore. 

No gagging sounds came from Sansa, but she did run her smooth finger over his eyelid and around it, spreading the moisturizer. How sunburnt could his eyelid really have gotten? 

She rubbed the edge of his cheek once more, right beside his ear, and then she went still. And after a moment, the same fingers beside his ear drifted into his hair, gently introducing themselves to the strands. Sandor waited, not wanting to open his eyes while she was still so close to him. 

And then something brushed against his nose— Was that her finger? She’d already moisturized his nose. And then something touched his lips and— _oh shit_ , it was her. Not her fingers, but her lips... on top of his. Sandor’s eyes shot open just to make sure that it was true— and it was; Sansa was kissing him, her eye lashes fluttering together. 

And then— his awful, rotten buggering luck— her eyes opened and she saw that _his_ eyes were open and she pulled back abruptly. Sansa stumbled back away from the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” she said once, then twice. 

_ Sorry? _ No... It was strange, in his mind, for her to _apologize_ for bringing him one of the best moments of his life.

_Um_... the commercial didn’t show anything like _this_ , or what he was supposed to do afterwards— and his pumpkin patch role had _not_ given him sufficient improv skills. 

Without really thinking about it, Sandor stood up and leaped to wrap his arms around her. He hugged her tightly and let his face dip against her shoulder. It took a moment, but Sansa hugged him back... and then they were joined. _Wow_ , it’d been a long time since he’d partaken in a hug. He couldn’t remember hugs being so... _good_. 

He was covered in slime by the name of _aloe vera_ but she made no complaints. 

“I lied,” Sansa said, running her fingertips along his sticky waist. “I’m not sorry.” 

“Okay.” Sandor nodded and squeezed her tighter, trying to force every single cell to memorize this moment. Really, he was trying to inform his muscles that it was time to let her go... but they were very stubborn muscles and he gave up quickly. “Good,” he said, chuckling weakly. “You shouldn’t be.” 


End file.
